


A Hollow Play

by karuvapatta



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel & Demon Interactions, Angst, Jealousy, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, POV Gabriel, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Religious Content, Seven Deadly Sins, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 20:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: Archangel Gabriel deals with Heavenly politics, interdimensional relations, confusing feelings for Aziraphale, and a crisis of faith. Badly.Meanwhile, Crowley and Aziraphale get themselves kidnapped by the forces of Hell.





	A Hollow Play

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a song "My Body Is A Cage" which I thought was by Peter Gabriel, but is apparently originally by Arcade Fire? Huh.

The angels, who had been standing around him in a half-circle and voicing their concerns, parted way when they noticed Archangel Michael approaching.

“May I have a word?” she asked, in a polite but firm tone.

“Of course,” Gabriel said.

She was worried, and obviously unwilling to speak in front of the others. They dispersed at Gabriel’s command, leaving the two of them alone. Even then, Michael stepped closer and lowered her voice.

“I have news from Below,” she said.

“Well?”

“It’s Aziraphale,” she said. “He’s in Hell.”

A warm sense of satisfaction settled upon Gabriel. His grin widened; he clapped his hands together.

“Excellent, excellent,” he said. “So he’s fallen, then? About time. Sort this out with the records department and then we can put this entire sorry affair behind us.”

But Michael was shaking her head. “He _hasn’t _fallen. My… contact is quite adamant about that. They took him captive.”

“What?” Gabriel asked flatly.

Confused, she began, “I have said—”

“_Yes, _Michael, I heard you.” Gabriel rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me they tried to incinerate him, at least.”

“Not as such.” Michael’s face scrunched in mild disgust. “Demons enjoy a spectacle. I’m afraid they are planning to turn Aziraphale into one.”

_Torture_. What a vile, disgusting concept. Demons employed it, and humans did, too. Heaven was above such base acts, of course. Its pristine halls were untouched by suffering, or pain, or blood; all that was for the ones below.

Aziraphale had always been more trouble than he was worth, but with the Armageddon he had outdone himself. Had he simply fallen in the aftermath, Heaven could wash their hands off his fate. As it stood, however, Aziraphale was an angel, if only nominally. It would not do to see a member of the Host debased for the amusement of _demons_.

“Can your contact get him out of there?” he asked.

Michael shook her head.

“Can _someone _get him out of there?” Gabriel threw his hands in the air. “Or kill him? Can we finally be rid of Aziraphale, _please_?”

Instead of answering, Michael only said: “I will monitor the situation.”

Oh, it would be nice to leave it to her and forget the matter entirely. The sad truth of the matter, however, was that their ranks were getting restless. They had been anxious for the glorious victory denied to them all those years ago, and that was as good a pretext as any to invade Hell, was it not?

Gabriel considered it briefly. Perhaps—perhaps. The Great War could finally be upon them. And how ironic that Aziraphale’s capture would bring it along, since he had conspired to stop it in the first place?

But the Almighty hadn’t spoken, and Gabriel didn’t have much of a choice.

“No,” he said. “I will retrieve him myself.”

***

Hell was _filthy. _It was unbelievable that so much filth could exist in one place. The air itself felt sticky; everything was damp, mouldy, and there was not a single functioning lightbulb in sight. Fitting for its inhabitants, certainly, but Gabriel barely managed to contain his disgust.

The demons parted before the Archangel that walked among them. The divine light radiating from him burned their eyes, and Gabriel saw no reason to dim it.

“I have come to collect the Principality Aziraphale,” he said, his voice magnified by a million echoes.

Let them fear him. Let them cower in their dark, filthy corners. Let this be over; he longed to bathe in the Light.

They led him towards a crowded room, stinking of blood and fear. Gabriel didn’t look around, as he had no desire to examine his surroundings in too much detail. Besides, he could already see Aziraphale lying crumpled on the floor, barely recognizable for all the injuries they had dealt him.

Gabriel sighed.

“_Demons_,” he said. And that was enough, really.

He approached Aziraphale’s still form and nudged him with his foot. Beyond a muffled, pained groan, there was hardly any reaction. So! Alive, but incapable of standing.

Gabriel grit his teeth and crouched, trying very hard not to touch the filthy floor. He placed one hand beneath Aziraphale’s folded knees, the other supporting his back, and straightened to his full height.

A circle appeared beneath his feet, erupting with Heavenly light; finally, _finally_, he could leave.

***

Going back to Heaven wasn’t an option so he took them to Aziraphale’s silly little bookshop instead. It was small, and cramped, but smelled infinitely better than Hell. It also occurred to him that there was a lot more greenery this time, arranged in clay pots around a small seating area.

There was also a sofa. He approached it, Aziraphale almost completely still at this point, his corporal form torn and bloodied. Well, it was almost done, wasn’t it? Gabriel wouldn’t have to spend any more time on the Earthly plane. Although Michael might pester him for the details, and there was only one person who could at least attempt to provide them.

Aziraphale stirred once Gabriel manhandled him onto the furniture. He made a half-strangled noise, from the pain perhaps, his mangled fingers grasping weakly at Gabriel’s sleeve, adding one more blood-red stain to the once flawless fabric of Gabriel’s suit. His face turned towards him, unseeing.

“Crowley?” he murmured.

Gabriel straightened rapidly and pried Aziraphale’s hand off him in sheer disgust.

_Crowley_. The _demon_. Aziraphale mistook him for a demon. _Him_, Gabriel, the Archangel Gabriel himself!

In that moment he almost left for Heaven, leaving Aziraphale to fend for himself. He had to take a couple of deep breaths to remind himself that patience was a virtue, and Gabriel was nothing if not virtuous.

He snapped his fingers. Divine grace washed over Aziraphale, healing the worst of his injuries and restoring some of the body’s damaged functions. It took somewhat longer than Gabriel expected it might, and was a miracle that wouldn’t go unnoticed by the relevant department. Even more bloody paperwork to sort out.

“Crow—” Aziraphale began, slightly more lucid. He blinked once, twice, and flexed his fingers experimentally. Then he raised his eyes and his expression turned incredulous. “_Gabriel?_”

“What were you doing in Hell, Aziraphale?”

“I’ve been,” he frowned. “Kidnapped.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Gabriel shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit. He _liked _the suit. The clothes were nice; in ways he couldn’t quite explain, they felt better when procured from a human craftsman than when brought into existence through a simple miracle. All that effort, he supposed. Either way, the clothes had been Gabriel’s particular weakness, and now they were _ruined_.

Aziraphale shifted on the sofa. With some effort he managed to sit up, examining his surroundings in a worried manner.

“Is that my shop?” he said.

“I asked you a question,” Gabriel snapped.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said automatically. “I—look,” his voice broke, desperation shining through it. “They took Crowley. I had to help him.”

“Almighty help us all,” Gabriel uttered a quick prayer. He would need a lot more patience to deal with this. “You can’t just waltz into Hell, Aziraphale. For reasons beyond my understanding, you are still an angel. It doesn’t look good when demons get their filthy hands on an angel.” He patted Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Couldn’t have thought of that, could you?”

“Listen—”

“No, _you _listen.” Gabriel’s hand clutched Aziraphale’s shoulder, to the point of making the Principality wince. “There will be no more of this nonsense. Crowley is a demon, and belongs in Hell. Let go of any ludicrous notions of saving him and we can all move on with our lives.”

Aziraphale looked up at him with a pleading gleam in his bright blue eyes.

“They’ll hurt him,” he said.

“It is as it should be.” Gabriel loosened his grip.

He had had enough and was just about ready to go back to Heaven when he remembered the state of his suit.

“Oh,” he chuckled. “I will have to visit my tailor beforehand.”

Maybe this quest hadn’t been a complete waste of time after all.

***

Oh, the new suit was going to be _stellar_. Sadly, the man would need a couple more days to tailor it to perfection, and Gabriel would never falter in pursuit of perfection.

He went back to Aziraphale’s bookshop in the meantime. He now noticed there was a little serpent symbol, etched in gold, above the frame.

Gabriel pursed his lips in disgust and shoved the door open.

“Aziraphale?” he called out.

He found him in the backroom, drawing a circle on the floor and chanting under his breath.

“Enough of that.” Gabriel slammed the door. “What have I told you, Aziraphale?”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said flatly. “But you can’t stop me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Gabriel smiled. “Of course I can.”

Aziraphale looked calmer now. He didn’t cower before Gabriel, or wring his hands, or laugh nervously as he sometimes did. It was mildly unsettling.

“Please,” he said. “Let me save him. He’s in trouble, I can sense it.”

“He’s a demon.”

“And we’re angels! We are meant to do the right thing!” Aziraphale took in a few deeper breaths. “Don’t _you _ever think so? We condemned the lot of them for their moments of doubt, and never gave them a chance to redeem themselves—”

Gabriel was no longer smiling. “This is blasphemy, Aziraphale.”

“Is it? I don’t know that it is! Do you?” Aziraphale turned towards him, eyes blazing. “What if we got it all wrong?”

“They are evil,” Gabriel said. “They chose to be evil. That’s all there is to say.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders trembled. He raised a hand to his face and looked helplessly at the half-finished circle.

“Crowley isn’t evil,” he said. “He never meant to fall. You don’t know him like I do—”

“Oh?”

Something in Gabriel’s voice made Aziraphale flinch. _Now _he cowered.

“Just how well do you know him, Aziraphale?” Gabriel asked in a low voice.

Aziraphale went pale, and silent, and honestly that was answer enough.

After a long silence, Gabriel raised his hand. The circle glowed, the symbols rearranging, the lines curving around the Principality until they had him caged in.

“You will stay here, then,” Gabriel said. He sighed. “I _do _wish we could still trust you. A shame, really.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale mumbled. “A shame.”

***

It took maybe two days before Gabriel, back in Heaven for now, received another visit from Michael.

“Someone is tampering with a seal you’ve placed,” she said.

“Oh, for the love of—” Gabriel gritted his teeth. “I will deal with this.”

He could feel it as soon as his feet crossed the doorstep. Incapable of breaking through an Archangel’s spell, Aziraphale apparently planned to dig his way out. The seal went quite deep into wood and stone, but Gabriel’s jurisdiction only went so far Below and Aziraphale was determined.

“Will you stay put?” Gabriel asked.

Aziraphale looked up at him.

“Not until Crowley’s safe, no.” Nothing went in or out of the circle, so he must have already had the knife on him – or in him, Gabriel thought. He hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to the exact nature of Aziraphale’s injuries.

Either way, he had a knife, and he was digging through the bricks underneath his feet.

What were they to do? Kill him? They had tried already, and failed. Proclaim that he wasn’t an angel anymore? Gabriel would have loved to do just that, but he couldn’t. For all his sins, Aziraphale didn’t feel like a demon; nothing about him had changed, insofar as Gabriel could perceive with his senses. He was beginning to suspect the botched execution had been some kind of a trick. Perhaps the demon failed to bring them proper Hellfire?

The rhythmic, metallic jabs of the knife were getting on his nerves. He snapped his fingers and the circle disappeared.

“You will remain under supervision,” he said coldly.

Aziraphale looked up at him, surprised.

“Whose?”

Gabriel sighed. “Mine.”

With the dissent spreading among the lesser angels, he was’t able to trust any of them around Aziraphale. He was, after all, the very seed of the malignancy growing inside of Heaven. And as their ranks thinned, Hell’s grew in strength…

“For how long?”

“As long as I deem it necessary,” he said.

***

It had been a _week_. A long, torturous, miserable week.

Stuck on Earth, Gabriel was forced to conduct his meetings in Aziraphale’s ridiculous bookshop. But nothing was worse than the angel himself, who perpetually radiated gloomy, unpleasant emotions, anxiety and yearning, echoing off every surface he approached. And he wouldn’t stop walking around, moving unimportant trinkets from place to place, doing silly human things like drinking liquids and reshuffling his collection of books.

And the plants. Almighty help them, the _plants_. Aziraphale went around them a couple of times per day, sometimes with a small plastic container in one hand to mist them with water. He talked as he did so, in a voice so low Gabriel couldn’t make out individual words. And he ran his fingers over their leaves with a wistful expression.

“I think I should open the shop,” he said one rainy morning. His glassy eyes stared unseeing into space.

“What for?” Gabriel asked.

The chairs were comfortable, at the very least. He reclined in one, reading through the _Celestial Observer_.

“It’s so quiet,” Aziraphale said.

“I disagree,” Gabriel said.

He frowned. Another wave of sorrow washed over him; Aziraphale was talking to the plants again.

“Stop that,” Gabriel said irritably.

Aziraphale didn’t argue. He didn’t do much of anything; had even stopped trying to escape every five minutes, which was a minor victory. In fact, as the days dragged on, Aziraphale became a shadow of his former self.

He dragged his feet to the small nook in the corner of the coffee shop and opened a cabinet. From there, he retrieved a bottle of amber-coloured liquid and tipped some of it into a glass. Then he picked it up and brought it to his lips, taking in a deep, shaking breath, before pouring its contents down his throat.

“Why do you consume that?”

Gabriel hadn’t meant to ask. _It’s nice_, Aziraphale had said once. But this couldn’t have been, because he shuddered violently and slammed the glass on the counter. Then, instead of answering, he refilled the cup.

“I asked you a question,” Gabriel said.

“Why bother explaining?” Aziraphale said without turning. “You wouldn’t understand the answer, anyway.”

This was such a shocking display of disrespect – and from _Aziraphale_, of all of God’s creatures – that Gabriel didn’t quite know how to respond.

Before he had a chance to, Aziraphale drew in another shaky breath. He had both palms on the counter now, his head hanging loosely and his face hidden from view.

“My friend is currently trapped in Hell, and he is not exactly popular there,” he said, in the patient tone of someone explaining a simple concept to an unintelligent audience. “I’m worried.”

“And what does the liquid have to do with it?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It makes it better. Temporarily.”

Gabriel stared at him, puzzled. “It does not affect the situation in any way whatsoever.”

“Yes, I know _that_,” Aziraphale snapped. “It makes _me _feel better.”

Aziraphale was a liar, Gabriel concluded. But before he could call him out on it, the angel had already left the room muttering something about taxes.

***

Gabriel had been on Earth for too long. It rubbed off on him in all the worst ways; he felt trapped, contained in too small a space. The cluttered walls of Aziraphale’s bookshop were much, much closer than the endless corridors of Heaven; gravity was an ever-increasing pull on his corporeal form.

And the colours, and the smells, all the noises humanity made – it gave him a headache, it really did. Pure light was natural; the light here had been refracted, obscured, split into different wave lengths. How could the Almighty have created a world so… untidy?

But the world wasn’t meant to last. If it hadn’t been for Aziraphale’s intervention, the Great War would have been over by now. All of this would have been over.

The bottle was still on the counter. Well. Not like Gabriel had much else to do with his time, and how dare Aziraphale suggest he wouldn’t understand? He was an Archangel! There was nothing he couldn’t understand!

He poured the amber-coloured liquid into a glass. It smelled strong, sharp, sweetness with a smoky tone; he hesitated to call it pleasant, because it wasn’t. If anything it made his eyes water, and what a stupid reaction _that _was.

He set the glass against his lips and the smell got more intense. Then he tilted it, slightly, watching with some curiosity as the liquid sloshed downwards, into his mouth—

Oh, Almighty—it _stung_. It burned, even, and the body started coughing. The taste was like the smell only _more_, and it punched its way through his gut.

As the burning sensation subsided, it gave way to other feelings – warmth that crept up on him from within, and a lingering taste that was—almost—agreeable.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked from behind.

Annoyed at having been caught in a moment of weakness, Gabriel slammed the glass down. The remaining liquid sloshed around it, spilling over the rim and onto his hand. He half-expected it to burn, but it did not; how peculiar.

“Whiskey is not the best place to start,” Aziraphale said. He was smiling but there was no actual joy behind it.

“I did not request your input,” Gabriel said.

He couldn’t stay here. Earth was getting under his skin; _Aziraphale_ was getting under his skin, with his quiet, perpetual misery. But what was there to do? Discorporate him? Send him back to Heaven, so that he could sow doubts into the minds of other angels? Let demons claim him? But a weak, helpless, suffering angel might suggest that Heaven itself wasn’t as strong, and that was blasphemy! Heaven stood above all of Creation!

“How can you live with yourself?” he asked. “With all your—sins, indulgences, disobedience, blatant disrespect, and the audacity to still call yourself an angel?”

Aziraphale smiled faintly. “Well, I always figured that if the Almighty asks, I would rather explain why I’ve done something I thought was right than why I followed orders I knew to be wrong.”

Gabriel glared at him.

“Swear to me that you will not get yourself caught again,” he said coldly.

Aziraphale sighed. “I cannot, in good conscience, do that. And you know it.”

“Your very existence is an insult to the Almighty, Aziraphale,” Gabriel snapped.

“Yes, yes, I know you hate me—”

“_Hate _you?” The grit of Gabriel’s teeth was almost audible; his jaw ached. “I am incapable of hatred. If I take action against you, it’s because the Almighty willed it so.”

Aziraphale smiled at him sadly.

“Of course,” he said in a quiet, placating voice.

Gabriel felt a hot surge of wrath within him. How could he, a lowly Principality, stand there in front of him, so calm, so _ignorant_, no trace of guilt for all the magnitude of his sins? How had God allowed this?

But that was the reality of the situation, and Gabriel saw only one course of action.

***

Michael handled the unofficial communication but Gabriel didn’t want to bring her into this. Too much explaining to do.

“What izzzz it this time?” asked Beelzebub, in a bored tone of voice. “We’ve let the angel go, haven’t we?”

“The demon Crowley,” Gabriel said.

“What about him?”

Gabriel exhaled sharply. “Send him back to Earth. And make sure he stays there.”

There was a loud buzzing noise on the other end of the line.

“You cannot command one of ourzzz!” The noises settled. “But we conzzzent. He izz trouble and we want to be rid of him.” A pause. “Will you dezztroy him?” The tone was definitely hopeful at this point.

“We’ll see,” Gabriel said darkly, and hung up the phone.

***

Demons couldn’t be trusted, which is why Gabriel found himself in front of Aziraphale’s shop. Again.

Even before he opened the door, he had his answer. The whole place was positively glowing with joy, relief, and—and _love_. Above all, the love. It was a wonder the humans couldn’t sense it, because everything else seemed to; the skies were clear and blue, birds were singing, and the scarce vegetation looked more lush than ever. And all this, over a lowly demon.

He walked inside and the emotions settled upon his skin like a well-tailored suit. Further in was the reading section, with the couch and the array of armchairs, bathed in sunlight and surrounded by verdant potted plants. And there was the demon, stretched out on the couch and—sleeping. Without a care in the world.

Gabriel tried to contain his distaste.

“Gabriel!” Aziraphale said – softly, so as not to wake up the creature.

Everything about him was soft. That was the root of all the problems, really. But today even more so – he smiled, and it was such a bright, loving smile, it wasn’t hard to see why the birds outside were going haywire.

Aziraphale had never looked at Gabriel that way before. It was disquieting.

“Thank you.” It wasn’t said in words so much as in his expression, tone of voice, the gentle glow of his aura.

“Don’t,” Gabriel said.

The very _idea _that Archangel Gabriel would rescue a demon for the sake of a rogue angel was ludicrous. Didn’t bear thinking about, really. And yet that was apparently how Aziraphale chose to interpret the situation.

“Well.” His smile faded a fraction, but the light in his eyes did not. “Regardless of your reasons, I am grateful.”

Wordlessly, Gabriel turned and left.

***

He had never thought of Heaven as too bright. He had never thought of it as too _anything_ – it was perfect in every imaginable way. But now—he saw the bright light as obtrusive, the endless corridors unsettling. He wandered its halls, the space around him unchanging even as he moved, and found himself longing, in some odd fashion, for cluttered walls that separated him from the outside world.

“Sandalphon,” he said, as the other angel fell into step beside him.

“Gabriel,” Sandalphon said. “You shouldn’t have dawdled.” His nose scrunched; lips curled in distaste, exposing the sharp gold teeth. “I can smell sin on you.”

“Earth,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. Quietly: “Aziraphale.”

Something about that smile stayed with him. And the wave of warmth, and gratitude; feelings he were familiar with in theory, but not on such personal level. Unfortunately, now that he had felt them, he couldn’t help but wish to feel them again…

Sandalphon was watching him very, very carefully.

“What will we do about him?” he asked.

“There is nothing we can do,” Gabriel responded.

Sandalphon’s scrutiny made him uneasy. He squared his shoulders and paused in front of the window overlooking Earth: chaotic, distant, _dangerous _Earth…

And Sandalphon didn’t stop looking.

“How goes the investigation?” Gabriel asked, because he had to know. Obviously. He had read the report, but perhaps some details had been omitted.

Uriel and Sandalphon were in charge of maintaining order within their own ranks; a task proving more and more difficult now that the unifying purpose of the Host had been cast into uncertain light and God had yet to grace them with an answer. Yes, this was important, and required his full attention.

But as Sandalphon went on, Gabriel’s thoughts remained scattered. Worse still, they gravitated towards Aziraphale.

***

It was the clothes, Gabriel decided later. One indulgence. But it never stops at one, does it? Every one is one too many, because they keep adding up, and you never notice until it’s too late.

Was it too late already? He didn’t _know_—oh, and now he was lying to himself, too. He had begun to doubt, and that doubt was the root of all sins. If Uriel or Sandalphon learned of this, they would condemn him; Michael might have done the same, except Michael was harder to read. She had dabbled with the unholy since the beginning of time, and while Gabriel never understood how she handled it, he couldn’t ask _now_, not without revealing too much of himself.

He closed his eyes; as they opened, he was in front of Aziraphale’s bookshop.

There were humans inside, but Gabriel paid them no mind. He couldn’t sense the demon’s presence, which was just as well; but he could see Aziraphale, talking to a human woman in a low voice over a paper-scattered table. He pointed out sections of text to her and she took careful notes, and then smiled at something he said.

It was quiet here, and calm, and _none of it was right_, _Aziraphale was a damn sinner and he should have burned—_but he was raising his head now, and apparently Gabriel had bought himself permanently into his good graces because he smiled at the sight of him, and Gabriel stopped thinking altogether.

“We need to talk,” Gabriel said.

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied.

The backroom was cramped and dimly-lit. They could be alone in here, without the eavesdropping mortals. For some reason, that felt important.

“How can I help you?” Aziraphale asked politely.

He wasn’t as radiantly happy as the last time Gabriel had seen him, but he emanated a soft, deep, contentment that somehow felt even nicer.

Peaceful.

The silence stretched on. Aziraphale’s eyebrows drew together, first signs of worry clouding his expression.

“What—”

It was only a few steps between them; Aziraphale was shorter, and had to tilt his head back to continue looking at Gabriel. His expressive blue eyes widened when Gabriel cupped his cheek, and, _oh, _it was better than the whiskey had been. No sensation of burning, no bitter notes; just Aziraphale’s soft, soft lips, and the warmth spreading throughout him.

Gabriel pulled back, light-headed, to find Aziraphale staring at him.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. He blinked rapidly and opened his mouth several times before speaking. “I—I’m flattered, Gabriel, but—”

_Now _he felt the bitterness creeping in.

“But, what?” Gabriel asked. “I’m not that demon?”

Aziraphale’s expression hardened. “He has a name.”

“He is a _demon_.”

“Yes, I am aware.” Aziraphale laced his hands together and took in a deep breath. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

Gabriel’s jaw ached. “No,” he said icily.

He snapped his fingers, heedless of where he was going so long as it was far away from _here_.

***

It was a windy cliffside, with a sheer rocky drop to the tumultuous sea below. Storm clouds boiled on the horizon. Gabriel didn’t know or care to know if that was just the weather, or if they were reacting to his presence. Heaven could probably track him down here either way, and a part of him rejoiced at the thought; he ached for a fight. He hadn’t had one in over six thousand years.

These weren’t the right thoughts, or the right emotions. Wrath was a deadly sin, and he was meant to be _above _sin. It was blasphemy to think otherwise! And yet he felt it within him, red-hot and coiling like a snake, the _least _of God’s creatures.

Well, the two traitors proved themselves impervious to Holy Water and Hellfire, so they could not be permanently destroyed. But there were other ways. What passed for their souls might yet be ripped apart into thousand pieces and scattered across the universe. It would take centuries before they regained enough of themselves to even _think_. Centuries of peace.

Surely this is what the Almighty would have wanted.

The clouds dispersed just enough for a single shaft of light to shine upon him. Gabriel was too stunned to move.

“Lord?” he whispered. He felt Her presence, but didn’t hear Her voice. And it had been that way for millennia – trying to work out what She wanted, follow the Great Plan only to find it foiled by a half-human child and a bunch of sinners and assorted fools. Logic dictated that it couldn’t have happened in any way other than what She intended, but then why not _tell them? _Why let Heaven slowly unravel without Her divine will to guide them? Why reward those who turned their back on Her, and punish those that remained faithful?

“I chose you to lead them, Gabriel,” She spoke.

He closed his eyes briefly; She said nothing more other than remind him of his purpose, but he _felt _Her disappointment.

“None of this is my fault,” he said. “Aziraphale—”

“I am not talking about Aziraphale. I am talking about you.”

Gabriel tried to force down all the emotions whirling inside his head, but they were getting the better of him.

“Well, what am I supposed to _do_?” he shouted. “What is it that you want from me?”

The light was fading. Gabriel stumbled forward trying to chase it, closer and closer to the edge of the cliffs.

“There is another path for you,” She said softly. “If you would rather take it.”

He could see it with startling clarity: the sheer drop into the deepest, darkest pit. In there he would no longer have to resent his weaknesses, doubts, or inadequacy. He wouldn’t have to fear falling, because there wouldn’t be anywhere else to fall.

The light was very nearly gone. Had She been expecting this? Did She _want_ him to take that final step and fling himself into the abyss? He desperately wanted to ask but was certain She wouldn’t answer.

He could just hope She didn’t.

Gabriel unfurled his wings and leapt – flying upwards, straight for Heaven.


End file.
